I was having a bad week.

  It started the day after the invasion ended. I was exhausted, running on fumes and adrenaline that had finally crashed. Harry and Gwen flanked me as we pushed through the crowded emergency health camp set up outside Metropolitan Hospital.

  The chaos inside was overwhelming. Doctors and nurses rushed between beds crammed so close together there was barely room to walk. The air reeked of antiseptic, blood, and fear. People sobbed. Others sat in stunned silence, staring at nothing.

  First a god declaring his rule over Earth. Then an alien army invading through a portal. And now people resurrected from the freaking dead.

  I felt numb to it all. My only focus was finding my family in the crowd.

  "May! Uncle Ben!" My voice cracked as I called out, pushing past a nurse carrying medical supplies.

  Then I saw them.

  Uncle Ben lay on a hospital bed, bandages wrapped around his head and left arm. His neck was braced. Aunt May sat beside him, her own hands and face marked with smaller bandages, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

  "Aunt May!" I broke into a run.

  May looked up. Her face crumpled, and she stood, nearly stumbling, grabbing me the moment I reached her. Her hands frantically checked me over, touching my face, my arms, my shoulders. Searching for injuries like her life depended on it.

  "Peter... oh my God, are you okay? Oh God, please tell me you're okay..."

  "I'm fine, May. I'm fine." My voice wavered despite my attempts to sound strong. My hands trembled as I grabbed hers, trying to still their frantic searching. "But what about Uncle Ben? Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

  May sobbed harder, her whole body shaking. She pulled me into another crushing hug, her grip almost painful, like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go.

  Uncle Ben tried to sit up, wincing. "May, honey, breathe. We're okay. We're gonna be fine."

  "What happened?" I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper.

  May pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes but not letting go of me. Her voice came out broken, punctuated by sobs. "It was... we were in New Jersey and that Loki bastard... on every screen... and the aliens, Peter, the aliens were real and..." She gasped for air. "We saw Manhattan. The destruction. All those buildings and... and we tried calling you. Over and over. Why didn't you answer? I kept calling and calling and..."

  Her breathing got faster, more shallow. The nurse from earlier reappeared, concern crossing her face.

  "Your location," May continued, her voice rising toward hysteria. "I checked your phone and you were right in the middle of it. Dead center. And Ben just... he didn't even think, he just turned the car around and..."

  She was hyperventilating now, one hand pressed to her chest. "We were so scared. I thought you were dead. I thought we'd lost you and... the traffic and Ben kept saying your name and..."

  "Ma'am, I need you to breathe," the nurse said firmly, moving to May's side.

  But May couldn't stop. The words kept tumbling out between gasps. "Then we reached Manhattan and there was... debris everywhere and something hit us and the car... oh God, the car flipped and I screamed and Ben..."

  She grabbed at me again, her nails digging into my arms. "Ben threw himself over me. There was so much blood. His blood. And I couldn't... I couldn't move and I thought we were dying. And all I could think was you'd be alone. You'd have no one and..."

  The nurse was taking May's pulse now, her expression growing more concerned. "Ma'am, your blood pressure is too high. I need you to sit down."

  "There were rainbow lights," May gasped out, ignoring the nurse entirely. "Everywhere. Like... like magic. And then this man in red and black, he just appeared and... and he pulled us out. He carried us both and..."

  Her voice broke completely. She collapsed back into her chair, still gripping my arms, tears streaming down her face as her whole body shook with sobs.

  I stood frozen. Motionless. My aunt's panic, my uncle's neck brace, the bandages, the blood. It all crashed over me at once. They'd almost died. All because I hadn't answered. I'd been too busy being Spider-Man to pick up the phone.

  My vision blurred. My hands started shaking so badly I had to clench them into fists. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

  Gwen appeared beside me, wrapping her arms around me. "Peter..."

  Harry was on his phone, talking rapidly to someone.

  I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. The weight of it pressed down on me like a physical thing. Crushing, suffocating.

  "I can't..." I started, but my voice cut off. My knees went weak.

  Gwen's grip tightened, holding me up. "Peter, breathe. Just breathe. They're okay and more importantly they're alive. Look at me."

  After about fifteen minutes, two men appeared, walking quickly through the emergency ward: George Stacy and Norman Osborn. Both looked frantic until they spotted their children.

  George saw Gwen hugging me, saw the Parkers on their beds, and his expression shifted to understanding. He exchanged a wordless nod with Norman.

  "Peter." George approached, his cop voice softened. "What's everyone's condition?"

  I tried to answer but my throat closed. Harry stepped in, explaining quietly while Norman made a call to arrange a private room.

  The next thing I knew, it was night and I was waking up on a sofa in a private hospital room. My family had been moved here. The space was quieter, cleaner, with actual beds instead of cots.

  For a horrible, disorienting moment, my heart hammered. Then I saw Uncle Ben sitting beside Aunt May's bed, and reality crashed back.

  I sat up too fast.

  Uncle Ben sat beside Aunt May's bed, now able to move despite the neck brace. His unbandaged hand gently caressed May's hair as she slept, her breathing finally even.

  "Uncle Ben..." My voice came out strangled.

  Ben turned, smiling despite the obvious pain. "Hey, kiddo. You're up."

  I stumbled across the room and threw myself at my uncle, wrapping my arms around him despite the bandages and neck brace.

  "Uncle Ben, I'm sorry." The words tumbled out in a rush, thick with tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've... I didn't answer and you almost... you could've..."

  I began to cry. Shaking sobs that I tried to muffle against Ben's shoulder so I wouldn't wake May. Tears and snot and gasping breaths that I couldn't control.

  "It's all my fault," I choked out between gasps. "If I had just picked up your phone... if I had run away instead of helping them... if I just stayed in the bunker, none of this would have happened..."

  I couldn't finish sentences. Couldn't get enough air. My whole body shook with the force of my crying.

  Ben's shaky hands moved to my hair, gently stroking it. "Peter, it's okay. It wasn't your fault, son. It was natural for us to worry about you." His own voice was thick, unsteady. The pain medication and emotion mixing together.

  "Why?" I pulled back, tears streaming down my face. "Why are you not angry? Why are you not mad? All I do is take and take from you and May... Just take and take and I can't... I'm not even..." I gasped for air. "I'm not even your son."

  Ben's hand stopped mid-stroke.

  Silence filled the room except for my ragged breathing and the quiet beep of medical monitors.

  I wanted to take it back. Wanted to swallow the words. But they were out there now, hanging in the air between us. The secret fear I'd never said out loud.

  Ben looked down at me. Even through the sharp pain running down his neck, even through the medication making everything fuzzy, his expression was nothing but love. Pure, absolute, unconditional love.

  "You know, after your parents' crash, when we took you in, May was really worried. She asked me what we should do."

  My breathing hitched. I tried to wipe my face with my sleeve, but more tears kept coming. "What did you say?"

  Ben smiled, reminiscing. His voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. "I said, 'There's only one thing to do, May. Only one thing we can do. We're his only living relatives. We'll bring him up, dear. Like our own son.'" He paused, his own eyes growing wet. "And you know what? We never had to pretend. Not for one day. Because you ARE our son, Peter."

  My sobbing, which had been calming down, broke again. Harder this time. I buried my face in Ben's shoulder.

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I said that. You're my family. You're..."

  "Shh," Ben whispered, his hand still stroking my hair. "I know, son. I know."

  Finally, when my sobs had quieted to shaky breathing and occasional hiccups, Ben spoke again.

  "Hey." Ben pulled me back into a gentle hug, mindful of his injuries. "Peter, you need to go rest. Properly, in a bed. We'll be fine. I already talked to George. You'll be staying with them for a while. Just until we're back on our feet."

  "No." My response was immediate, almost panicked. "I should stay here. I need to... what if something happens? What if you need me? I can't..."

  "Peter." Ben's voice carried that particular tone that meant the discussion was over. But it was softer than usual, understanding. "Go. We'll still be here in the morning. And the morning after that. And the one after that. I promise, son. We're not going anywhere."

  I wanted to protest. But looking at his exhausted face, at my aunt sleeping fitfully, I knew arguing would only add to their stress. And I'd caused them enough pain already.

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  "Okay," I whispered. "Okay."

  As I gathered my things with shaking hands, I heard a familiar voice calling my name from the hallway. "Peter! Peter!"

  Gwen appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath from running. She crossed the room and hugged me again. "Let's go home, Peter."

  I sighed, all the fight draining out of me. I was so tired. Tired in a way that sleep wouldn't fix. "Yeah."

  George's voice came from behind Gwen. "Come on, kid. Everyone's tired. Let's get some rest."

  The Stacy household was quiet when we arrived. Too quiet. The kind of silence that felt heavy after the day we'd had.

  I tried to sleep on the Stacy's couch, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw the car flipping. Heard May's screams. Saw Uncle Ben's blood. My phone was clutched in my hand, volume turned all the way up, checking it every few minutes to make sure I hadn't missed any calls.

  Around 2 AM, I gave up. My hands were still shaking. My stomach hurt. I went to the kitchen for water, hoping it would help.

  Gwen was already there, helping herself to instant ramen. When she saw me catch her mid-slurp, her face flushed crimson and she started coughing.

  "Easy," I said, crossing the room. I patted her back gently until she caught her breath.

  We ended up on the couch together, Gwen's ramen forgotten on the coffee table. The apartment was dark except for the light from the kitchen. Outside, New York was quieter than usual. Like the whole city was holding its breath.

  For a while, neither of us spoke. Gwen just sat close, her shoulder pressed against mine, her hand finding mine and holding on.

  "Can't sleep?" she finally asked.

  I shook my head. "Every time I try, I just... I see it. The hospital. The bandages. I keep thinking about..." I stopped. Started again. "What if that guy in red hadn't shown up? What if nobody had pulled them out?"

  "But someone did," Gwen said softly. "They're alive, Peter. They're okay."

  "They almost weren't." My voice cracked. "And it's because... I should've answered. I should've just picked up the phone and told them I was fine and..."

  "Then what?" Gwen interrupted gently. "You would've told them you were fine, and they would've asked where you were, and you would've had to lie or tell them you were running toward the alien invasion. Either way, they would've come looking for you."

  I hadn't thought of that. I stared at our joined hands.

  "Parents worry," Gwen continued. "Even when you do everything right. My dad's a cop. You know how many times my mom freaks out when he's late coming home? It's not your fault they love you enough to be scared."

  I was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know if I can do it again."

  "Do what?"

  "The hero thing. Going out there. Fighting. I thought... I thought it was the right thing, you know? Help people. Save lives. But what's the point if I can't even keep my own family safe?"

  Gwen turned to face me more directly, her hand still holding mine. "Don't say that. You saved people, Peter. You saved hundreds. They'll have their families and futures because of you."

  I was silent.

  "I saw you," Gwen continued, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "When you ran out. When you chose to help instead of hiding. Harry gave you his jacket and beanie because he knew you'd need them. Because he knew you wouldn't run. And I was..." She stopped, swallowing hard. "I was terrified you wouldn't come back. But I wasn't surprised. Because that's who you are."

  "Maybe that's the problem."

  "It's not a problem. It's..." She struggled for the right words. "Heroes can't save everyone. I know that sounds bad, but it's true. But they save who they can. And you did. You saved hundreds, Peter. It's all over the net. They're calling you Spider-Man."

  I wanted to argue. Wanted to explain that it didn't feel heroic.

  But Gwen kept talking, filling the silence with stories about her little brothers, about her dad's cases, about anything that might distract me from the guilt. Her voice was soft and steady, and eventually, I found myself responding. Small comments at first, then longer observations.

  Eventually, exhaustion won. My eyes were too heavy to keep open. Gwen's voice had become a comfortable murmur. My head drifted to her shoulder, and she shifted to make me more comfortable, her hand still holding mine.

  "Thanks," I mumbled, half-asleep. "For being here."

  "Always," she whispered back.

  We fell asleep like that. My head on Gwen's shoulder, her hand still holding mine, our other arms wrapped around each other for comfort. Two fifteen-year-olds who'd seen too much, taking refuge in each other's presence.

  That's how George and Helen Stacy found us the next morning.

  "Aww, they're so cute," Helen whispered, pulling out her phone. "Let me take a picture."

  George frowned. "Helen, they're still kids, you know."

  "Don't be such a prude." Helen was already on her third photo. "Look how adorable they are."

  The shutter sounds woke us. Gwen and I blinked groggily, saw the camera, and realized our position. Both of us turned bright red.

  "Mom!" Gwen scrambled to sit up properly.

  I tried to disappear into the couch.

  Gwen's younger brother, Philip, appeared in the doorway. "Are you Gwen's boyfriend now?"

  "Philip!" Gwen's face somehow turned even redder.

  Breakfast was an exercise in mortification. Philip kept asking me invasive questions. Helen showed us the photos she'd taken. George maintained a stoic expression that somehow conveyed both amusement and paternal concern.

  Harry arrived around 10 AM. Norman was still dealing with yesterday's aftermath, coordinating Oscorp's contribution to the city's rebuilding efforts.

  We retreated to Gwen's room under the guise of "studying." Philip tried to follow until Gwen physically slammed the door.

  "So," Harry said once we were alone, "what's the plan?"

  "Plan for what?" I asked.

  "For you." Harry gestured at me. "You've got powers, man. Real, actual superpowers. We saw what you did yesterday. What you can do."

  "I'm not doing anything," I said. "I'm just going to..."

  "Be normal?" Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Peter, you lifted a car. You dodged bullets. You have spider powers. There's no going back to normal."

  "Then I'll just... I'll hide them. I won't use them. I'll pretend they don't exist."

  "You can't." Harry's voice was matter-of-fact. "We both know you can't. Because next time there's trouble, you're going to help. It's who you are."

  I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died. Because Harry was right. I'd already proven it. The second I'd heard about the invasion, I'd run toward it. Not away. Even knowing the danger. Even knowing my family would worry.

  "I don't want to be that person," I said quietly. "I don't want to be the guy who chooses strangers over his family."

  "You won't, Peter," Gwen said.

  "So here's what we do," Harry continued, his voice softer now, less pushy. "We test your powers properly. Figure out exactly what you can do. And we get you a proper suit. Not my old jacket and a torn beanie. Something that might actually keep you safe if... when... you decide to go out again."

  "A suit?" My voice cracked slightly.

  "You remember that sleek thing you had during the battle?" Gwen asked. "The red and blue one with the AI you told me about?"

  I nodded. The memory was fuzzy, but the suit had been incredible. And then it had vanished when the battle ended, leaving me in my makeshift costume.

  "We can build something," Harry said. "I can get materials from Oscorp. Fabric that's cut-resistant, maybe some body armor inserts. Nothing crazy, just enough to keep you safe."

  "And the webs," Gwen added. "You were shooting webs, right? We need to figure out the formula, make it reproducible. Turn it into something you can reload instead of..." She gestured vaguely. "Whatever you were doing before."

  I wanted to say no. Wanted to insist I was done being a hero.

  But looking at my friends, at the determination in their eyes, at their willingness to help despite everything, I felt something shift. Not acceptance, exactly. More like... acknowledgment. Of what I was. What I could do.

  "Just as a backup," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just in case. I'm not... I'm not going looking for trouble. But if something happens..."

  "Okay," I said quietly. "But just as a backup. Just in case."

  "Sure," Harry said, grinning. "Just in case."

  We got to work.

  Getting the materials was harder than Harry made it sound. We couldn't just walk into Oscorp and request military-grade fabric. Harry had to be subtle, requisitioning things through his intern access, claiming they were for "school projects" and "personal experiments." It took three days just to gather everything without raising suspicion.

  The web formula was even worse. I remembered the general idea. The AI suit had shown me the composition during the battle. But translating memory into actual chemistry was brutal. Gwen and I spent hours in her makeshift lab, really just her bedroom with borrowed equipment, trying different combinations.

  "This batch is too sticky," Gwen announced on day two, holding up a beaker of white goo that refused to let go of the stirring rod. "It'll work for swinging, but you'd never get it off your hands."

  "What about adding a dissolution agent?" I suggested, flipping through my notes. "Something that breaks down after a set time?"

  We tried that. The webbing dissolved too fast, falling apart mid-air.

  "Great," Harry said, watching a test strand disintegrate. "So you'll swing halfway across the street and then fall. Perfect."

  "Shut up and help," Gwen snapped, but there was no real heat in it. We were all exhausted, running on pizza and stubbornness.

  By day four, we'd finally created something that worked. The web shooters were bare-bones. Basically repurposed spray mechanisms Harry had "borrowed" from Oscorp's prototyping lab. But they functioned. The suit was simple too: cut-resistant fabric in red and blue, Gwen's insistence citing the new suit's colors, basic padding in vital areas, and a mask that actually fit properly instead of my torn beanie.

  "It's not perfect," Harry said, examining our work spread out on Gwen's bed. "But it's better than what you had."

  I ran my fingers over the fabric. It felt real. Official. Like something an actual superhero would wear, not a kid playing dress-up.

  Later that day, Uncle Ben and Aunt May were released from the hospital. I went home with them, though I found myself texting Gwen constantly throughout the day. Something had shifted between us during that night on the couch. Neither of us had addressed it directly, but it was there. Unspoken but undeniable.

  The house felt different when we got back. Quieter. More fragile.

  I helped Uncle Ben into his chair, careful of the neck brace, and made tea for Aunt May. Pretended everything was normal even though nothing felt normal anymore.

  "Peter?" May called from the living room later that evening. "Can you come here for a minute?"

  I found her sitting on the couch, her hands twisting a dish towel in her lap. The scars still marked her hands and face. Thin lines that would fade but never completely disappear. But she was smiling, the first real smile I'd seen since the invasion.

  "I know things have been hard," she said. "For all of us. But we need something good to focus on. And I realized today is Ben's birthday."

  My stomach dropped. I'd completely forgotten. Between the hospital and the suit and the guilt, my uncle's birthday had just... vanished from my mind.

  "Oh no, Aunt May, I..." Shame burned through me.

  "It's okay." She patted my arm. "None of us have been thinking straight. But I thought... maybe you could get a cake? When you go out this evening? Something to celebrate. We need reasons to celebrate, especially now."

  I hugged her, probably too tight, but she didn't complain. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I'll get the best cake I can find."

  I meant it. I'd get the cake and come straight home and we'd celebrate and I wouldn't think about the suit or powers or responsibility. Just cake and family and normal fifteen-year-old things.

  That was the plan.

  That evening, I suited up. Just to test the web shooters properly, I told myself. Just to make sure everything worked before I put the suit away forever. Just to swing a few blocks to the bakery and back.

  I kept telling myself that as I pulled on the suit. As I attached the web shooters. As I climbed out of my bedroom window onto the fire escape.

  My phone buzzed.

  Gwen:

  Harry:

  Me:

  I swung between buildings, testing the web shooters. The formula held. The adhesive strength was perfect. Gwen and Harry's design worked flawlessly.

  "Okay, Parker," I muttered into my makeshift mask. "You've got functional web shooters, a suit that doesn't fall apart, and absolutely no idea what you're doing."

  My phone buzzed. The conference call was still active.

  "Peter, the trajectory on that last swing was terrible," Gwen said. Her voice carried a mix of concern and scientific analysis. "You need to account for wind resistance at higher speeds."

  "I'm working on it!"

  "Just don't die," Harry added helpfully. "Your aunt will kill me if you die testing my suit design."

  I was bantering about the design when my spider-sense pinged.

  Not the gentle warning I'd gotten used to. This was sharper. More urgent. Danger, but not to me.

  Below me, about three blocks away, a man with mechanical wings was stealing cargo from a Damage Control truck. Chitauri tech, from the looks of it.

  "Guys, I gotta go," I said.

  "Wait, what's..." Gwen started.

  But I'd already dropped from the rooftop, muscle memory and instinct taking over. Web-line, swing, release. The formula held. The shooters worked. I was flying through the air. I felt alive.

  The winged man saw me coming. Saw a kid in a homemade suit swinging through the air. The mechanical wings, clearly cobbled together from salvaged Chitauri tech, sparking and stuttering, powered up with a high-pitched whine.

  "Stay out of this, kid!" the man shouted. His voice was rough, desperate.

  My spider-sense screamed. But not at the winged man.

  At something else.

  Something above me. Something powerful enough to make my entire nervous system light up in warning.

  Before I could turn, before I could react, the winged man's entire rig went dark. The Chitauri tech sputtered, died, fell silent. Blue circuit patterns flickered across the mechanical wings for a split second before everything powered down.

  The man started falling.

  I reacted on instinct, firing webs to catch the thief before he crashed. The webbing stuck to the man's jacket and pants, creating a makeshift net that jerked him to a stop ten feet above the pavement. The man dangled there, secured but unharmed.

  I landed on the top of a building, sticking there, my heart hammering. My spider-sense was still screaming. Still warning me of...

  "Yo, Peter." The voice carried that familiar teasing note. "Dig the new suit. But it could be better, don't you think?"

  My mind went blank. Panic flooded through me.

  "How do you... who..." I couldn't get the words out.

  The figure smiled, pulling down the collar of his shirt slightly to reveal his face completely.

  And I realized why the voice was familiar.

  That was the same guy who'd boldly declared Earth protected. Who'd used godlike powers to bring people back from the dead. Who'd stared down a literal god on live television.

  That was the Light Bringer. The Power Broker.

  That was Jay.